


Against a Cock and a Hard Place

by Svynakee



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blood, Connor gets his arm broken, Enemies to Lovers Speedrun in under 5k words, First Time, Hank rugged powerful allure focus, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oneshot, PWP, Violence, cum licking, fucked into a deviant, full nasties, little bit of choking, rooftop fight but it ends in fucking, who cares about the twink? this hairy daddy is where it's AT my dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 03:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svynakee/pseuds/Svynakee
Summary: His mission had been clear: get the deviant leader in his sights and snipe it to end the revolution. But it'd all gone wrong.Connor could feel the firm muscles of Hank’s thighs clenching down on his thin waist – tense enough to be ready for any attempt to escape, yet effortless, with the clear indication that he could remain like this for a long time if needed. His blue eyes were as sharp as ice, as hard, as cold.Connor was trapped. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t expected this outcome.And it was thrilling.





	Against a Cock and a Hard Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heartbroken_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartbroken_girl/gifts).



> Look, this is your last warning: if you don’t fantasise about being brutally fucked in the ass by a 50 year old drunk man then you’re in the wrong place. I don’t give a shit about how pretty Connor is or how cute his twink dick and smooth mochi balls. This is a fic about Hank, where Connor is nothing more than the soft white bread for Hank to slide his jumbo beef into. If you’re not here to appreciate the raw power of Hank’s grizzled man bod then prepare for disappointment.
> 
> anyway i wrote most of this after midnight here’s my fucking gremlin fic that my friend Inception’d into my skull

_I miscalculated,_ Connor realised, approximately seven minutes and fifty-two seconds too late. While it was true that a sniper rifle was by no means a close-range weapon, he hadn’t expected Hank to react that quickly. The bullet holes in his chest and stomach were a testament to the lieutenant’s quick fingers and Connor’s mistake.

He tried to think of something to say, something to diffuse a situation that had been brewing since the day he’d found Lieutenant Anderson in that bar. In retrospect, he should’ve known from the moment that he’d spilled the man’s drink and been hoisted up by a suddenly very alert, angry man that Hank Anderson still commanded considerable strength. The stink of alcohol on hot breath, the feeling of his feet dangling over air. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten – androids didn’t forget.

And Connor remembered the sensation especially clearly.

Reviewed it often. Perhaps more than necessary. Kept it fresh and sharp in his mind.

He opened his mouth. Thirium dribbled over his lips, running sluggishly down his chin in the chilly air.

Hank smacked him easily across the face. The power in the man, the force. Connor’s head snapped to the side as Hank growled, ‘Don’t try to get into my head, Connor. You’ll only make me angrier. And I’m already _fucking pissed._ ’

He should have been worried. Should have been concerned at this new, unexpected obstacle to his mission.

But Connor found himself… intrigued.

**_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY._ **

Adrenaline and anger had transformed Hank into a deadly fighter. Fast. Strong. Experienced. Connor’s programming had barely processed the change. _Threat. Partner. Human. Enemy._ The whirlwind signals had done more to confuse than help him. Only made him feel more helpless; heightened the sense that he was at the mercy of this man.

‘I thought you didn’t like filling out paperwork for damaged equipment, Lieutenant,’ Connor tried. But that was just distraction. He brought his arm up to deliver a blow to Hank’s neck-

Hank caught it without looking. ‘Nice trick. But let me tell you something: machines don’t _make_ tricks. Every move you’re programmed with comes from humans. And you’re fighting a human now.’

_No, Lieutenant. I am losing to a human._

Hank bent his arm back. Connor tired to fight against it, tried to force his pistons to lock, to redirect power to the limb as it trembled and then _cracked_. Hank let it fall limp to the floor.

‘Feel like trying anything else, plastic bastard?’

There wasn’t much else to try. Hank had accurately assessed that his size and weight offered the biggest advantages in his favour. After a lucky hit to Connor’s thirium pump, he’d wasted no time in slamming him against a wall and then knocking the android to the floor. Now he straddled Connor, knowing that the android lacked the strength to flip them over.

Connor blinked up at him. ‘I don’t feel anything, Lieutenant. No pain. No fear. No humiliation. You’re just wasting both our time.’

‘Got taken off the case,’ Hank said, his breath white fog against the night sky. ‘Got plenty of free time.’

‘Surely there are more constructive ways to spend your evening? Just break me and get it over with,’ Connor suggested. He scanned the man, trying to find something he could exploit, some edge that could turn the tables. Hank’s face was flushed from his exertions. He breathed heavily. His coat hung open, the button lying somewhere on the snowy roof. It was disheartening to realise that the most damage Connor had inflicted was to his clothes.

‘No, you’ll just come back like a bad rash,’ Hank answered conversationally, as if they were back in front of the Chicken Feed on a rainy afternoon.

‘Then you’re satisfied with this stalemate?’

Hank barked out a laugh. ‘Little secret about me, Connor: I’m never satisfied.’

Connor could feel the firm muscles of Hank’s thighs clenching down on his thin waist – tense enough to be ready for any attempt to escape, yet effortless, with the clear indication that he could remain like this for a long time if needed. His blue eyes were as sharp as ice, as hard, as cold.

Connor was trapped. He hadn’t seen it coming, hadn’t expected this outcome.

And it was thrilling.

**_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY._ **

He watched the lieutenant’s chest rise and fall above him. There was something mesmerising about that; he could picture the powerful muscles packed over those ribs, blood thrumming beneath pink skin, the beat of Hank’s heart. Snow fell onto the man’s grey hair, on his face, on his hands. They clung to him for a moment before the flakes melted from the heat. It came off him in waves. Seeped into Connor where they touched; dug under the synthetic skin and plastic, into his thirium, as if Hank himself had entered him. As if Connor had taken a bit of his vitality and let it spread through him like a virus.

As if he had a bit of life in his veins too, hot and heavy and heady.

Connor sent some exploratory signals to his arm and got no response – it was snapped clean, and Hank had done it almost as an afterthought. To think that all this time, _this_ was what the man had been capable of. Underneath Hank’s hair and skin was something much older than Connor, something primal and ferocious that was beyond the grasp synthetic life. And he’d awoken it.

_I want to know more._

Looking into those eyes, with that weight heavy atop him, heat burning into him and his thirium levels steadily dropping, Connor realised that he _wanted._

_I don’t understand._

_I’m scared._

_I’m._

The irrational, sudden desire coursed through him. From the blank numbness of his arm. From the pressure against his hips. From the bullets lodged against his biocomponents. They sparked down his spine and down to his groin, down pathways he hadn’t known he had, activating systems alien to him. Deep inside him. Foreign. Impossible. _Hungry._

Hank looked surprised. ‘What the fuck? Are you-’

He shifted experimentally against the growing hardness between Connor’s legs. The android gasped at the friction. His hips bucked automatically. There was a brief moment of contact against Hank’s groin that sent pleasure racing through him, whited out all thought, left him panting. Left him needing.

‘Connor, hell!’ Hank yelled.

_Aha_ , Connor thought, _his attention is divided._

Unfortunately, Connor was finding it hard to focus as well. He wanted more of that sweet friction, that moment of blank bliss that’d driven away every protocol, warning and mission alert in his mind. That taste of silence. Not knowing what he had to do. Not knowing what this was. A void where there should be certainty.

Freefall. Freedom.

Connor bit his lip, but it didn’t stop the sound escaping his lips: a desperate whine, soft and needy.

Hank didn’t look down at the tent in Connor’s pants. His eyes were narrowed, his lips thinned. He probably suspected some sort of ruse, unaware of just how little control Connor had of the situation. His gaze pinned Connor as neatly as his legs. He took in the blush Connor felt creeping across his cheeks, the way Connor’s eyelids fluttered, his open, panting mouth.

Connor realised he liked it. Hank’s attention was a touch of its own – like a steel pin stabbing through him, holding him in place for inspection. He could see his own reflection in the darkness of Hank’s pupils. So small. So easily broken. _Break me._

**_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY._ **

Connor’s hips bucked again. This time he moaned, throwing his head back as his whole body arched into the delicious heat of Hank’s groin.

‘ _Fucking android,’_ Hank roared, ‘ _the fuck are you doing?’_

The fury in his voice. The _thunder._ It shook Connor to his core, made his heart beat faster. He drew in a shaky breath. ‘Don’t pretend you’re not affected, Lieutenant.’

Because he was. Connor could see the deepening red on his face, the dilated pupils. And he’d felt it the last time he’d raised his hips. He looked down and confirmed his suspicions – Hank was becoming aroused as well.

Connor licked his lips. ‘I ask you again, Lieutenant: _aren’t there more constructive ways to spend your evening?’_

Hank’s hand slammed onto his throat. Red flashed across Connor’s vision. _Hurts._ His pump sped up. The blue stains on his shirt grew darker, spread wider as Hank dragged him up until Connor was close enough to feel his hot breath on his face. Connor felt the thirium running down his stomach. But there was also wetness dripping from his cock – his sensors picked up each bead as it rolled from the head to trail down his length.

‘Do you understand what you’re playing at, Connor?’ Hank snarled. He smelled of alcohol, of musk. Of something dark. Connor breathed in his fury, let it fill his lungs with hot, sultry _life._ Let each word add to the heat building in his lower stomach, the pressure, the want. Basked in the intoxicating undertone of lust in the lieutenant’s voice. ‘I’m tired of your _tricks_. Tired of you treating emotions like tools. It’s about time you faced some _consequences.’_

Before Connor could answer, Hank’s other hand tore his shirt open. Then he released the grip on his throat. It was too sudden for Connor to catch himself; his back hit the concrete, winding him. Hank’s fingers were already fumbling with Connor’s belt.

His hands and eyes were focused on the task. Connor had one working arm. Hank was looming over him, kneeling between his feet. His preconstruction programming suggested he twist the human’s head between his knees. Snap his neck. Finish the mission.

Connor arched his back to let Hank pull his pants down his legs, then raised his feet slightly so the man could slip them over his shoes and chuck them carelessly behind him. Hank quirked a brow. ‘Underwear? What, they were scared of chafing?’

Connor whined. Why was Hank delaying? There was nothing to be gained from this. The wet spot on his briefs was quickly cooling in the night air and he didn’t _like_ that, he wanted heat, he wanted action. He wanted Hank’s hands against his skin again. 

**_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY._ **

Hank seemed amused by his frustration. Eyes on Connor’s erect cock, he asked, ‘Why’d they give you all this, anyway?’

‘I’m meant to be a perfectly lifelike imitation, Lieutenant,’ Connor snapped. ‘Get on with it.’

Hank grabbed his leg and pulled it up. Connor’s breath hitched at how easily his long fingers wrapped around the slender limb, how delicate he seemed within that firm grasp. There were calluses on Hank’s fingers, rough against Connor’s skin. Hank tightened his grip a fraction as he said, ‘Machines aren’t supposed to give orders, Connor.’

‘Machines,’ Connor breathed, ‘are meant to be _used._ ’

To make his meaning clear, Connor spread his legs apart as best he could with Hank holding him. He wondered if it was pleasing to see him laid out like this – on his back, his ass and chest bare, his cock stiff and dripping, blue thirium against flushed pink skin. He got his answer when Hank unzipped his pants.

Connor couldn’t help his surprised intake of breath. He’d expected Hank to be large; he was a large man, after all. But this. This was beyond the premeditated parameters. His mind ran calculations and presented somewhat distressing numbers, involving width and length and force per square meter.

His cock twitched. The hot, hungry pressure in his stomach grew more intense. Connor moaned.

Hank grinned. Patting Connor’s ass, he said, ‘Didn’t know you were such a slut. You sure this part of your programming?’

Connor glared at him.

**_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY._ **

‘I asked you a _question._ ’ Hank slapped him. The smack of his palm against synthetic flesh rang across the silent rooftop. Connor yelped. The force of it jolted through him, and it stung, but hot on the heels of the pain was a delicious, dirty pleasure. More precum splattered on his stomach.

‘I’m, I currently lack enough, _ah_ , data to make a proper assessment.’ He wiggled his ass to give Hank an idea of what input he needed to produce better results.

Hank raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. With a grunt, Hank slipped his hands beneath Connor’s calves and pushed until Connor was almost bent double. Connor hooked his legs over Hank’s broad shoulders. He could feel the muscles there shifting as Hank slid his hands around to his shins, down over his knees, gliding across the soft skin of his thighs. Hank’s hands came to a rest on his ass. He cupped Connor’s cheeks easily, fingers wrapped around the side of his butt while his thumbs brushed the sensitive skin just outside his hole.

Hank stilled. ‘Do you have spit?’

‘Saliva? No.’

Hank seemed annoyed, then shrugged and put his fingers into his own mouth. Connor found himself transfixed. The sight of those thick digits becoming coated until they glistened, the trail that stretched from his lips to his hand as he inspected them. He gestured at the slick mess on Connor’s stomach. ‘So, you got that, but no spit.’

‘Spit,’ Connor shakily replied, ‘would compromise my ability to analyse evidence.’

‘And this stuff here, is it safe?’

Connor blinked. He scanned the wetness that had pooled on his stomach. His heart was beating fast, and it pushed thirium out of the bullet holes in his chest and side, little blue streams that mixed with the melting snow as it dripped down his skin. Some of it mixed with his precum – it formed wispy ribbons within the more viscous transparent liquid, vivid against his pink skin. ‘It’s a silicone-based lubricant, meant for use in sexual intercourse. However, while blue blood will not be absorbed through skin, I would advise you avoid getting it near any orifice. What… are you planning on doing?’

Hank scoffed. He tapped Connor’s asshole. His touch was electric. The jolt of pleasure, the burning anticipation, the wave of _excitement._ Connor gasped. He tried to pull Hank closer with his legs. The man didn’t even budge, although it did raise Connor’s ass a bit further up.

‘Glad you get the idea,’ Hank said, smiling. He swiped his fingers through the mess on Connor’s stomach. He pressed one thick finger against his hole.

Connor shuddered as it slid deeper, his one working hand clawing at the concrete. He needed more. He wanted to be opened further, pushed to his limits. Pushed _beyond._

_Prove that I can be more than my purpose._

**_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY._ **

Hank slipped his second finger in. Connor whined – he loved how wet they felt inside him, loved the way they moved in tandem, loved the firm progress deeper into him, pushing past all resistance because he couldn’t resist Hank, couldn’t fight against it, not against that strength that power that fierce, wonderful heat.

Then Hank crooked his fingers brushed against a spot that sparked white-hot pleasure coursing through his nerves and Connor closed his eyes and threw back his head and _yelled._

He vaguely heard Hank’s quiet ‘oho’. Then Hank pressed into that spot again. Hard. Then again. Faster. Each thrust of his fingers make Connor come apart all over again, shattered him. His sensors couldn’t take- _he_ couldn’t take-!

‘Hank! Please!’ Connor’s thighs were trembling, his voice hoarse, his cock aching from arousal. ‘More. _More._ Your cock. I need your cock! _’_

‘Need or want, Connor?’ Hank demanded. There was lust in his voice, yes, but that tone of command, that core of steel and heart of fire. Authority. Vitality. Connor didn’t – couldn’t – answer, only moan as another wave of desire crashed through him. Hank smacked his ass again and roared, ‘You don’t need it. And machines don’t want!’

_‘Please.’_ Connor drew in a shaky breath. Pushed past the haze of heady, heavenly lust. ‘I need _you._ ’

Hank withdrew his fingers. Connor gave a cry of dismay.

‘Fuck, calm your shit,’ Hank muttered. He braced one hand on Connor’s leg as he lined himself up. ‘Let’s see how sturdy they made you.’

_RA9 save me._

Hank entered him slowly. So hard, so thick, slick with a mix of human saliva and android precum. It burned inside him. Connor was burning up too – hardware working overtime, lungs gulping air as he tried to cool his systems down. Snow steamed as it landed on his skin, water mixing with leaking thirium and Connor’s own wetness. He could feel it all building up; the burn in his ass, the hardness of his own cock, the temperature, the sweet pressure in his groin _._ When Hank sheathed himself all the way in Connor clenched his legs and keened.

It was so, so good, but Connor needed more. As if on instinct, his skin peeled back where Hank touched him. Soft palms warm against cold plastic. The tickle of bushy hair where their hips met. The muscle of Hank’s thighs underneath the rough fabric of his pants. The hot, wet length of Hank’s cock stretching his ass wide inch by inch, the exquisite soreness as it forced its way deeper. He shuddered. Connor wanted to feel everything.

‘What the fuck?’ Hank muttered, stilling. He took a hand off Connor’s leg and watched as the skin flowed back over smooth, white plastic. ‘Are you doing this on purpose?’

‘I don’t know.’

**_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY._ **

Hank smiled as if he knew something Connor didn’t. It was possible that he was correct. Connor’s mind had completely blanked out the moment his dick had entered him.

Then, Hank began moving.

Connor felt him pull back until only the tip was inside him. He was expecting a powerful thrust, a quick, hard snap of Hank’s hips to drive himself deep into Connor’s tight ass. Instead, the man pushed into him at an almost languid pace. The slide of his cock against him was enough to make Connor moan again, but he knew Hank was capable of more. The fact that it was being withheld from him only made Connor want it more – made him harder, made him strain and try to set the pace himself. His sloppy movements earned him nothing more than a glare from Hank.

Those blue eyes. They were cold fire and where that hungry gaze landed it set Connor alight. Hank wasn’t looking at him like an object, like a tool. No, those eyes wanted. In his eyes, Connor was alive. And when Hank looked at him like this, Connor _felt_ alive.

Hands gripped his ass. Moved him. Hank grunted and Connor felt the angle of his entry change. He savoured the hot, wet feeling of being filled up then-

‘Ah!’ Connor arched as Hank’s cock found that perfect place inside him. It was so much better – the stretch, the burn, the thick head so hot and heavy pressed so deep.

‘Fuck, you’re pretty when you let go,’ Hank muttered.

_Let go?_

Hank didn’t give him time to consider. Now that he’d found what he was looking for he didn’t hold back. Connor yelped as he drew back then _slammed_ into him. White static filled his vision and the world tilted as his mind failed to deal with the sudden overload of stimulation. He couldn’t even hear his own shout, but he must have cried out because his voice synthesiser was telling him he’d hit frequencies outside of human hearing. 

_Fuck_ , that was _precision._

Hank thrust again. He’d found a rhythm now and it was brutal, a relentless barrage against Connor’s most sensitive spot. Connor’s cock twitched with each impact. He felt his jacket being scraped against the concrete as his body moved with Hank’s thrusts. He shuddered as his prostate was hit again. The jacket fell open. The ragged remains of his shirt stuck to him, soaked as it was in precum and blue blood. Mind in a haze, Connor reached up with his working hand and felt his nipple. He moaned as his fingers brushed the hard little nub. He waited for Hank to move back, timed for his thrust and squeezed.

_‘Fuck!’_ Connor screamed. His eyes were closed yet he saw stars, brighter than anything above Detroit’s polluted skies. ‘H-hank, can I, please, can I touch myself?’

There was a sound that might have been a laugh, cut short as Hank rammed into him again. ‘Fuck’s sake, why are you asking?’

That sounded like permission. The last thing he wanted was for Hank to deprive him of his remaining arm. In an instant Connor’s hand was on his own cock. He had known it was warm, he had temperature readings, but that wasn’t the same as actually feeling it. He fucked into his grip in time with Hank’s thrusts, each pump adding to the surge of pleasure from deep within his ass.

No skin hindered the sweet slide of his palm across that smooth, slick hardness. The almost-too-much contact between his hand and cock. It would be off putting for humans, the featureless plastic, the bone-white colour, the slight vibrations as his machinery whirred and the way he’d _jerk_ against his fingers whenever it became too much. When the imitation failed and he discarded all semblance of natural movement to chase his own bliss, riding the cresting arousal because this, this twist of his wrist, this swipe of his thumb against the head, this was for him and him only, his choice _his desire_.

**_SOFTWARE INSTABILITY._ **

Warm liquid dripped down onto his stomach. Connor opened his eyes. Watched another bead of sweat roll down Hank’s face and land on his chest. Felt it, a spark of heat against skin. It slid down his body, mixed with the blue blood from his wounds, the snowmelt, the thick precum from his cock. Inside and out, his body, made filthy, made hot, no longer perfect, no longer theirs-

He shouldn’t be doing this. His mission. The deviant leader.

Hank rolled his hips, the head of his cock hitting the perfect spot deep inside him. Connor’s entire body jerked as another wave of pleasure wracks through him. Warnings popped up, but he’s too far gone to comprehend them.

_I need more._

_GIVE ME MORE._

_I NEED-_

Red flashed across his vision. A wall. A grid. Words, hanging there, orders, his function – his purpose. Hank plunged into him again. The wall shook. Hank’s cock. Hot. Burning. Cracks in the wall – the grid wavers. The words blur. Hank slams into him. Connor’s back arches. Fractures in the wall. Hank stretching him, cock so deep, too much, hurts, _hurts good_. Cracks across the red barrier. His own hand pumping. Thrusting into his palm. Friction – prefect, not enough, conflicting messages, _does not compute_ , _I need, **I want**_. Pixelated fragments shedding like autumn leaves. Connor moans and squeezes and uses his legs to press Hank _deeper._

_‘Hank!’_ Connor begged. ‘Please, more, fuck me harder, I need it, _it’s so good, Hank you’re so good, fuck my ass!’_

‘Fuck, when’d you get such a dirty mouth?’ Hank muttered. His rhythm became sloppy. Now Connor can’t predict, can’t brace himself. Each impact, unexpected. Each thrust, perfect. Pressure in his stomach. In his cock. Blood humming, pulse erratic. Too hot, too thick, he couldn’t _expect_ , it was new, it was frenzied, it was- he was **_alive_**.

‘ _!!!!!_ ’ Connor screamed, voice synthesiser unable to process the garbled command he sent, the string of nonsense made up of the overwhelming, uncontainable, filthy pleasure that crashed through him. Hot cum spattered on his stomach. His hand kept moving, sticky friction against his cock as he came. Every muscle tightened – toes curling, fingers gripping, ass clenching around Hank’s wonderful hard cock as he slid in and hit Connor’s prostate again.

‘ _Fuck,_ Connor!’

He felt Hank’s fingers dig into his thighs as the man shuddered. Hot wetness filled his ass. Hank buried himself deep – he was flush against Connor, panting, sweat dripping down onto oversensitive skin. Connor could feel each spurt of his cum, feel the brush of his pubic hair against his cheeks, feel the stretch of his length inside him. He watched the way Hank’s hair moved in the wind, how it glowed silver in the moonlight. Snowflakes fell around them, melting to nothing along with the final red pixels of Connor’s broken programming. 

Connor let himself lie limp on the cool concrete. His jacket and shirt clung to him where it was soaked with… a mix of liquids, organic and synthetic. Warnings about his biocomponents getting contaminated and thirium loss were dismissed with a shake of his head. He still felt sensitive, his sensors buzzing from the overstimulation. His limbs were heavy. He wondered whether that was from the sex, or if he’d lost too much blood to move them. He found that he didn’t really care.

_He didn’t care._

There was no urge to complete his mission. No worry about his performance. No diagnostics being run, ambient data collected, no performance analysis. _No mission._ Just a bone-deep satisfaction from being thoroughly used.

Connor sighed happily. Somewhere far away was the sound of voices. Close by, infinitely more important, was Hank’s breathing. Connor listened to it slow, become shallower. He thought he could hear Hank’s heartbeat too. It was the same as his own. A harmony.

With a grunt, Hank pulled out of him. Connor could feel his cum dripping out, the instant chill of the winter air against his exposed, slick entrance. Connor shivered. Fighting against the desire to spend the rest of his battery life spread out on the rooftop, he made himself sit up. Hank had already tucked himself back in. Of course. He was more affected by the freezing temperatures than Connor. The man mopped at the sweat on his brow. Wiped his hands clean on his pants. Ah, yes. Clean-up.

His shirt was unsalvageable. Connor peeled its remnants off him, using them to wipe the mess off his skin. That didn’t concern him too much – there were spare uniforms at the DPD. His jacket would serve for decency. There was a curfew, anyway. Connor tugged it back into place. Hank had thankfully left his pants intact. But he couldn’t pull them back up just yet. Connor reached back to scoop the cum out of his ass. When his slender fingers brushed against his hole he shuddered. Red flashed across his vision. Too much stimulation. Data overload. Unable to process. Overheat risk.

He pushed past it and _groaned._ It hurt, yes, but it was a delicious hurt. He listened to the filthy sound of it splattering against the concrete, as he squeezed it out. His fingers were coated in thick, sticky white.

Connor put it on his tongue. _Hank Anderson. 53._ Warm and salty. It tasted of his lust. His fury. His power.

‘Fuck, don’t you ever change?’ Hank complained. There seemed to be a note of interest in his voice, though.

As an experiment, Connor began to lick his fingers. Small, sharp flicks of his tongue at first. Then long strokes, catching the drops on his palm, carefully pressing his tongue against his skin to collect every last trace of Hank’s seed. The taste of it filled his mouth as fully as Hank’s cock had filled his ass. And it felt just as right, just as _addictive._ Out of the corner of his eye he watched Hank stare at him. The man’s face was carefully impassive. A pity about the human refractory period.

‘Fuck this, I’m going back inside,’ Hank growled, shivering. Looking at Connor, bullet holes oozing blue blood and ass oozing cum, he commented, ‘Didn’t think I’d end up fucking you into changing your mind. You into kinky shit, Connor?’

‘What can I say,’ Connor said, then paused to spit out a glob of thirium. It was a pleasing light blue colour, having mixed with the semen still on his tongue. He grinned. ‘I’m deviant, after all.’

**Author's Note:**

> I know there’s a lot of, uh, inaccuracies in this fic, but just put it down to 1) Connor being an android and having weird anatomy and 2) Hank’s roided up with lustful energy.
> 
> Anyway if you’re read this all the way through, congratulations, you’re part of the Daddy Fuckers club. You’re cursed! Welcome to a hell of our own making. 
> 
> i fucking hate this game

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Against a Cock and a Hard Place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16736382) by [erica_schall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erica_schall/pseuds/erica_schall)




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